


All Play, All Sport

by WildandWhirling



Category: Celtic Mythology, Irish Mythology, Táin Bó Cúailnge
Genre: (Cú Chulainn is 17 in canon), Angst, Because it's Cú Chulainn, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Body Horror, M/M, Missing Scene, Period-Typical Underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 01:31:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19121866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildandWhirling/pseuds/WildandWhirling
Summary: There would be no miracle here. No sudden turns, no reconciliation, even if it burned the two of them to their core to be at odds, like a body that had had been set against itself.Cú Chulainn and Ferdiad don't exchange kisses that last night.





	All Play, All Sport

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reine_des_corbeaux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reine_des_corbeaux/gifts).



> I was very honored to receive your request for this challenge; I've been eyeing your list of prompts since the Chocolate Box challenge, since it finally gave me a chance to work with these two after years of watching. I floated multiple ideas, some of which were better or worse in quality, but in the end, this was the one that stuck, even though, sadly, it didn't FULLY correspond to any of the prompts, with me focusing more on the angst factor more than anything else. I hope that regardless of that, you enjoy it. (Though, also, if you want a refund, I'm also perfectly willing to discuss French Revolution AUs for Irish Mythology, and my friends might actually thank you for it.) 
> 
> Special thanks to my dear friend Néde, who goes on here as SenEolas. They had NO part in the actual writing of this, so I'm not going to implicate them, however without their knowledge and passion for these two, this would certainly never have existed. I highly, highly recommend their College AU if you want a nice reprieve from the doom and gloom that is canon. Even if they exiled me from the Fianna. 
> 
> Also a HUGE thank you to my two betas for this, who made sure that my late night smut scribbles were legible. Saba, Cecily, I owe you both a BIG one for this.

The third day, they didn’t exchange kisses. 

 

Something had settled between the two of them. Subtle, impossible to name, but there nonetheless.

 

There would be no miracle here. No sudden turns, no reconciliation, even if it burned the two of them to their core to be at odds, like a body that had had been set against itself. 

 

Come the morning, one or both of them would be soaked in the blood of the other. They had moved past the days of Scathach’s harsh instructions, which were always tempered with something resembling warmth, past the days of Alba and the cold winters and the long nights they carried with them, past the little victories that had seemed so large at the time and the boyish competitiveness that’d spurred them on, past the grey, mist-soaked shores that seemed to stretch out forever. 

 

Everything was gone. 

 

All that they had left was one night and the day that followed it. 

 

Hands that had held swords masterfully at the day’s break fumbled to get to skin that had been reddened and bloodied from the combat of the day before. 

 

The leaf-shaped brooch of Medb’s that had been given to Ferdiad, Cú Chulainn’s familiar, gleaming brooch of silver and gold, helmets studded with gems that glittered in the moonlight, silken leines hemmed and lined with thick thread of gold, all of them tumbled into a piled together, Ferdiad’s spear and the Gae Bolga laying harmlessly together, side by side. 

 

Lips trailed along muscles and that had been torn at during the day, grazing across wounds that had scarcely had hours to heal, not nearly as long as they would need even with a physician to tend to them. To any other men, it would have been agonizing. They might have stopped, or dwelled on the state that brought them to hacking at one another in the first place, or simply laid down in the grass for hours, letting themselves be lulled by the still night air and the distant call of birds. 

 

But they were no two ordinary men. Their desires were not those of men who were born and died and lived a long stretch between the two. And so they muffled their groans against flesh, letting themselves say what couldn’t be said in words, falling together onto their discarded cloaks. 

 

An easy smile lifted Ferdiad’s face as he pinned the smaller man, capturing his arms above his head. “What are you going to do now, hm? Where are all your great tricks and feats?” 

 

Cú Chulainn bristled beneath Ferdiad’s body, and for a moment, he was the indignant pup that had first arrived in Scathach’s care as he worked his hands out of Ferdiad’s grip. “It wouldn’t be that hard to get the advantage. I could still flip you.” 

 

Ferdiad rolled his eyes, some amount of warmth gleaming in them. “Don’t be ridiculous, you never did before.” 

 

Cú Chulainn nipped at his chest, at skin that he knew wouldn’t break beneath his teeth. “I’ve changed since then.” 

 

Ferdiad settled himself over him, gripping Cú Chulainn’s twitching, full erection along with his own, Ulster’s champion hissing at the contact, at the warm flesh that seemed to blaze and spark across his skin. “We both have.” 

 

Ferdiad’s hand was soft, untouched by the callouses and tiny, pricked growths that covered the rest of his skin, easily enveloping him, thumb rubbing along the vein that stretched along the bottom of it, causing Cú Chulainn to swallow, bucking into the touch. It would be easy to get lost in it, he thought. In Ferdiad’s silk-soft touch. In his eyes as they looked at him intently, sharply, not in fear or intimidation, like men and women alike did when they saw him raw and ragged like this, but like he could never see enough of him. At his hardness as it brushed against Cú Chulainn’s, so that no matter where he went, he was surrounded by Ferdiad, the other man invading his body down to his quaking bones. 

 

A self satisfied smile on his face, Ferdiad applied the tiniest amount of pressure to Cú Chulainn, earning him a groan that he would never admit to if asked about it, feeling it tear its way out of his throat. He would have to do something, or else he would lose this battle before he’d even begun it. 

 

Not to be undone, Cú Chulainn wrapped his own hand around the two of them. It wasn’t a combat with pointed spears, not anymore, or heavy swords. But it was combat all the same, the two of them twisting and bucking together. Cú Chulainn took no small satisfaction at Ferdiad gritting his teeth at one particularly hard tug, blood dripping down from where he’d bitten down to keep from shouting. 

 

Not the little pup anymore, Cú Chulainn thought as he sucked it away, catching Ferdiad’s groan in his mouth and feeling it vibrate through his whole body, taking his time to brush his teeth against Ferdiad’s neck, catching more little moans as they formed.  

 

If this had been a leisurely, lazy hour in-between practices, they might have waited, drawn it out, teased each other with little kisses and playful hands that stopped just before granting what they both knew they would have in the end. But there was no time for that, their hands working furiously against each other, demanding more and more from each other, driving the two of them closer and closer to the brink with no way or intent of stopping, like two horses that had sprung themselves free of their chariot and were rushing flank to flank to see which one could better dive over a long, steep edge, because both of them knew nothing other than seeing how close they could come to the sharp rocks that waited at the bottom. 

 

Cú Chulainn’s body began to twitch and warp, eye twitching uncontrollably and the ríastrad was trying to rip through his body as he felt his own consciousness begin to drift away with his pleasure, something dark and hungry and ever-changing, something him and  _ not _ him creeping in where he had been. Each pump of Ferdiad’s hand seemed to bring It closer, every stroke shifting his body around the blazing warmth of Ferdiad’s hands, his flesh seeming to turn into liquid to make way for bone and muscles that would break and contract and stretch, but he wouldn’t give up, not when he was so close and the tension was  _ burning _ his body so that it seemed like it would rip itself apart one way or the other. 

 

_ Not here _ .

 

That was for the battlefield. That was for other people, people who didn’t  _ matter _ , not-

 

“Stay with me,” Ferdiad said. Even though he felt some indignation at being commanded like a  _ dog _ ( _ “When you were on Alba, you were but my manservant.”  _ That taunt, and all it represented, lingered in his head long after his lips had silenced the mouth that spoke it after that first day), Cú Chulainn found himself seeking out the other man’s eyes anyway, six pupils locking onto eyes that were clear and blue and calming, the only real calm that he’d known in his life. 

 

He squeezed at Cú Chulainn’s base, and again he felt something surge up alongside his pressure, a familiar shadow rising amongst all the tumultuous strokes, straining, so  _ close _ to breaking, to  _ ripping _ . 

  
“Stay with me, Cúcuc.” Ferdiad steadily pumped the two of them, showing no signs of relenting, no signs of  _ denial _ . Everything had been building up to this, every stroke, every press, every breath since they’d first met, and every muscle of their bodies was drawn as tight as a finely-tuned  harp’s string in anticipation. 

Cú Chulainn nodded his head. “Together.” 

 

A little more pressure from Ferdiad as he lingered on the vein that ran on the underside of his cock and he was done. Without any fear, he let his release wash through every aching joint and sinew, let it wash away the ríastrad for the moment, let it wash away Ulster and Connacht, his entire world focused on the man in front of him and his own drained body, finally pulling Ferdiad into a broken, bloody kiss, tongue piercing into the other man’s mouth. 

 

They laid down on the grass, apart but separate, bodies no longer bound but with their eyes both locked on the same thousand pricks of light that filled the night sky. 

 

It had been a comfort, once, at their parting on Alba. No matter where they went, if the whole world laid between them, they had the same stars, their hearts beating the same pace. Now, they were a breath away from one another, and the world still seemed laid between them. 

 

“End this, Ferdiad,” Cú Chulainn said, body shaking, caught halfway between monster and man. 

 

Ferdiad instinctively reached over to clutch onto his arm before realizing his mistake and pulling away. There was no place for that now. “You know that’s impossible.” 

 

“It wasn’t always,” Cú Chulainn said, “On Alba-”    
  
“We aren’t on Alba anymore,” Ferdiad said, straightening his back up so that he seemed even taller than usual. “All that’s left for us is Ulster and Connacht.” 

 

The second they’d left Alba’s shores, they’d stopped becoming Ferdiad and Cú Chulainn. That bond of foster-brotherhood, and everything else that they’d made of it, had to die. If not quickly, like a rock dashed against someone’s head, then it had to be done like a slow poison. Bit by bit, the two boys on Alba had been replaced by men of Ulster and Connacht, and he wasn’t even sure he knew when it had happened. 

 

Human lives had never really mattered to Cú Chulainn: There were people who helped him and there were people who stood in his way, and if they stood in his way then they would either step aside or he’d see to it that they wouldn’t bother him anymore. Either way, it was  _ sport _ , as easily done as swatting a fly, and he knew with each one killed that his province would shower its praises on him once again, tying the bond between the two of them tighter and tighter. One dead Connachtman was as good as any other, so long as they stood against him.

 

Some part of him, though, hadn’t connected the words  _ Ferdiad _ and  _ Connacht _ together. Ferdiad was  _ Ferdiad _ , he couldn’t be a part of another province because he was a part of  _ him _ . Still, the years passed, and that part shrunk and shrunk until all that was left was the memories and the man (not the boy he’d once been) who laid next to him. 

 

Ferdiad wouldn’t call it off. He’d staked too much of his pride on Findabair’s breasts and Medb’s honey-dipped lies. Ulster’s honor and his own would suffer for it if Cú Chulainn tried, and he would be known as a coward forever. 

 

Before he was Cú Chulainn, he was Setanta, the boy who’d become a watchdog, the boy who had sneered at a long life and taken up arms instead. And, even more than he couldn’t fight Ferdiad, he couldn’t betray that. Not for Ferdiad, not for Emer (he still remembered, sometimes, how her reddened fingernails had scratched at his neck when she’d begged him to spare Connla), not if the fate of Ireland rested on that. 

 

He’d come too far for that, and he still had so far to go.

 

All things had to end, after all. And, even if he had never imagined this, it would be done anyway. It was one more moment in his story, no matter what happened. 

 

So, instead, he reached over and buried his head in his dearest companion’s broad shoulder, letting his warmth soak through him as Ferdiad pressed a single, regretful kiss to his forehead. Dark hair mixed with honey-gold, Ferdiad’s beard brushed against Cú Chulainn’s smooth cheek, skin that had been forced to reshape itself time after time again settled against horned skin, and Conchobar’s faithful, diligent hound tried to relax, focusing on the steady pulse of Ferdiad’s heart beat working in time to his. He drifted off into dreams of Alba that were as hazy and blurred as a long-faded memory.

 

And above them, a raven perched, red eyes fixated on them for but a moment before it flew off. 

 

Soon. 

**Author's Note:**

> The primary sources that I consulted were Kinsella's translation, as well as the Wooing of Emer and The Tragic Death of Aífe's Only Son. Neither of the two of them are REQUIRED to really understand it, but I do recommend them anyway, because my evil plan is to get more and more people into Irish Mythology via the power of the gay.


End file.
